


You, Me, Now, Then

by andabatae



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Banter, Canon Compliant, Cunnilingus, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hate to Love, Not Epilogue Compliant, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Post-Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Post-War, Smut, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-03-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:26:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23085478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andabatae/pseuds/andabatae
Summary: After breaking up with Ron, Hermione reconnects with Draco at a Ministry of Magic party. Past grievances are aired, and gradually, the two adversaries discover a connection neither one of them expected.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 64
Kudos: 673
Collections: Draco and Hermione





	You, Me, Now, Then

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Dramione fic! Wheee! I always shipped it in my heart, but I'd never thought about writing fic about them. Hope you enjoy!

Hermione wrapped her hands around her elbows, holding herself tight as she leaned against the wall of a ballroom in the Ministry of Magic. Across the crowded room, Ron was hobnobbing with someone whose name she ought to remember. That was what she did, wasn’t it? Remember things?

If she hadn’t already had three glasses of champagne, she probably could have summoned up the name of the weasel-faced man. She spent a few moments trying to place him… then realized this wasn’t her job anymore.

She and Ron were no longer a couple. She didn’t need to serve as his walking calendar, encyclopedia, and secretary in one. She could drink three glasses of champagne at a terrible Ministry of Magic party if she so pleased, and no one could say a thing.

Hermione giggled, then covered her mouth to avoid attracting attention. Ron or not, she was still an employee of the Ministry, and she had aspirations that went far beyond his vain attempts to recapture “the glory days” as a sub-par Auror.

She was sick of hearing about the glory days. It had been two years since the Battle of Hogwarts. Ten percent of her life thus far, which was no small amount. So why was everyone else perpetually stuck there?

“You find something amusing?”

She stiffened at the low words, spoken in a posh voice she knew all too well. Sure enough, when she turned to look, she found Draco Malfoy leaning against the wall a few feet away from her, his all-black dress robes making him look like a Dementor or some other villainous creature of the dark.

He must have just arrived, or else used some sort of spell to diminish his presence, because normally Hermione was very attuned to her peripheral vision. A symptom of growing up in troubled times—and all right, perhaps Ron and the others had a point with their endless reminiscing. It was hard to move past their history when it was written on even the most inconsequential moments.

“Why are you here?” she asked.

Draco looked cool and urbane, his shoulders filling out his black coat nicely, his long legs crossed at the ankle. Sometime in the last two years, he’d transformed from the boy Hermione hated into a man she… didn’t like to think about. It was a good thing she knew exactly how terrible he was. Draco might look like a prince carved out of ice, with his white-blond hair, sharp features, and piercing blue eyes, but she knew the heart underneath the handsome facade would always be withered and small.

His mouth twitched in a ghost of a smile. “I work here,” he said. “A fact I’m sure you’re aware of, Granger.”

“Do you ever wonder why we still call each other by our last names?” she mused, swirling her champagne. That wasn’t what one was supposed to do with champagne, but sod it, Draco saw her as an unsophisticated peasant, anyway. “As if we haven’t known each other since we were eleven.”

Draco cocked his head. “Admittedly, we don’t talk much—”

“Ever,” Hermione interrupted.

“—But I assumed you’d want some amount of professional distance between us.”

She despised Draco, but at least this was a welcome distraction from staring at Ron and brooding about the past. She turned to face him fully, leaning one shoulder against the wall. “Is there a point to this interaction?”

He didn’t answer her question, instead nodding out at the crowd. “You were watching all those very important people, and you laughed. Bored of such exalted company already?”

She snorted, a noise she might not have made if she hadn’t had three glasses of champagne. As a young witch at the Ministry of Magic, there were endless hoops to jump through to maintain her professional reputation—how tall her heels were, how many buttons she buttoned, what tone she used when speaking to the people she worked with. Draco, though, had known her and despised her for almost half her life, and he didn’t blink at the rude sound. He just stared at her expectantly.

“I was laughing at myself,” she said finally, telling the truth for lack of anything else to say.

“Oh?” His eyebrows arched. “That would be a first.”

“Oh, please,” she said. “You haven’t the faintest idea what I do or don’t laugh at.”

“No, no, this is delightful.” His lips quirked. “What a welcome change from the know-it-all I remember.”

“I’m still a know-it-all,” Hermione shot back. “Mainly because I know everything.”

“Everything?” he asked, pushing off the wall and stepping towards her.

“Close enough, especially when it comes to you.” Hermione’s blood raced in her veins; for the first time that night, she felt alive and engaged with her surroundings. Perhaps there were some merits to all-consuming hatred.

Draco eyed her up and down, making Hermione very aware of how low-cut her sapphire blue, floor-length gown was. The fact that this would be her first post-breakup interaction with Ron had been a non-zero part of her reasoning for choosing this dress; too bad her ex had barely glanced her way all night.

“So you think you know me,” Draco said softly. There was no malice in his tone, only resignation, and Hermione could have sworn there was something sad in his eyes. “Nothing ever changes, does it, Granger?”

She couldn’t help herself; she stepped closer to him. It was oddly intimate, standing so near him, voices hushed as if sharing secrets. “I was thinking that, actually,” she said, the words coming out even though she knew she shouldn’t encourage this conversation. “About how we’re all stuck living in the past.”

“I would think you’d enjoy living in the past,” Draco said, a sneer twisting his lips. They weren’t large lips, but she’d always been aware—objectively, of course—that they were nicely shaped. “You were a hero, after all.”

“And you were a bully.” Hermione held her ground, meeting his stare without flinching. “Your change of heart about being an agent of evil doesn’t signify much in the long run for me.”

She expected him to lash out, maybe say something cruel, but he just shrugged. He looked… tired. “So what do we do, then? Pretend the past never happened?”

Sometimes she wished it was that simple. “Or we use what we learned as a map for moving forward. If you were a cruel snake then, stands to reason you’re a cruel snake now.”

“And yet,” he said, as if she hadn’t just insulted him, “I’m the only person who’s talked to you in the last hour, and the only one you seem to have any interest in talking with.”

She gaped at him, mouth working around silent accusations. How dare he imply she was enjoying this? She wanted to shout a dozen hateful things at him, but what burst from her lips was very different and not at all subject to the constraints of her higher reasoning. “You were watching?” she asked, then silently cursed herself and those three glasses of champagne. Time for a sobriety spell.

Draco didn’t blink as he met her gaze, those ice-blue eyes cool and serious. “I always watch,” he said, and a shiver slithered down her spine, like someone had trailed a fingertip over her skin. His voice lowered even further. “And you watch, too, don’t you Granger? I see you glaring in my direction quite frequently at these events.”

“That’s what undiluted hatred does to a person,” she said, voice wobbling. Why had she gotten so close to him? She couldn't back away now without looking like she was ceding ground.

“Is that what it is?” His gaze darted down to Hermione’s lips, so fast she wondered if she had imagined it, and a flush raced over her skin.

Unfortunately, her own traitorous eyes chose that moment to drop to his mouth, too. “Yes,” she said, licking her lips. Merlin’s beard, what was wrong with her? This was _Draco Malfoy_ , her nemesis, the boy who’d tried to make her adolescence hell. He’d been a _Death Eater,_ for heaven’s sake. Just because he’d redeemed himself in wizarding society’s eyes did _not_ mean he’d redeemed himself in Hermione’s eyes.

“Hm,” Draco said. She heard the shift of fabric as he leaned in a scant inch closer; his dress robes were now mere centimeters away from brushing the fabric of her dress. “Hate feels so good, doesn’t it, Granger?” He whispered the words like a secret. “It tells you what to think. You don’t have to doubt yourself when you hate someone or something.” His eyes flicked between hers. “It’s the simplest choice, and you’ve never been fond of nuance, have you?”

“I have so,” she argued back. “Learning is full of nuance, and I’m sure I don’t need to remind you I was top of the class—”

“Who’s living in the past now, Granger?” he interrupted. “Hogwarts was years ago. Find something else to define yourself by.”

She gaped at him, outraged. “I have found something to define myself by, thank you very much. I’m working to further the cause of house-elves, not that I would expect you to understand working on behalf of the vulnerable, you, you… absolute git!” 

To her consternation, he laughed. His eyes scrunched up, and he tossed his head back. “Is that the best insult you’ve got?” he asked. “Still haven’t graduated to adult swears, have you?”

Maybe it was the champagne, or maybe it was her righteous indignation tipping her over the edge into reckless territory—she’d been put into Gryffindor for a reason, after all—but Hermione found herself stepping up to the challenge. She gripped the neck of his robe in one hand, enjoying his expression of surprise. “Not adult enough for you, Malfoy?” she whispered. “How about this. Fuck off, you complete arsehole.”

She was close enough to see his pupils dilate. He swallowed hard. “I probably shouldn’t like that as much as I do,” he said.

Hermione’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “What—”

“Hermione!” The loud, familiar voice interrupted the moment, and Hermione leapt back from Draco, feeling oddly guilty, like she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t. Her stomach churned as she turned to face their visitor.

“Ron,” she said, inclining her head politely.

His cheeks were flushed, and he was swaying slightly. Apparently she wasn’t the only one who’d overindulged in champagne. He eyed her up and down, gaze lingering a little too long on her cleavage for someone she was no longer dating. Even though she’d wanted to rub her hotness in his face, Hermione found herself crossing her arms over her chest and scowling at him.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Ron said.

“Yes, well, I do work here, you know.”

Malfoy chose that moment to stick his hand out. “Draco,” he said dryly. “I believe we’ve been introduced.”

Ron looked at his hand with contempt, then focused back on Hermione. “I was surprised to see you with this maggot,” he said. “And standing so close, too. It almost looked like you were enjoying talking to him.”

Hermione sucked in a breath. “Ron, you’re being rude.”

“Oh, that’s rich.” Ron scoffed. “He was rude to us for years.”

“People change,” Draco said.

Ron turned on him. “Was I talking to you?” His voice was vehement and far too loud for this party. Already, they’d attracted attention.

The last thing Hermione wanted was to end up in the papers—she was in them enough already, since Rita Skeeter was a nosy bitch who fabricated drama if she couldn’t find any—so she put her hand on Ron’s arm. “Leave it,” she said softly. “And maybe go use a sobriety spell. You’re embarrassing all of us.”

“Can’t have that,” Ron mumbled. “The Golden Girl needs to be perfect at all times, doesn’t she?”

Draco was watching them with the oddest look on his face. Hermione couldn’t quite parse it. There was bitterness there, and a sort of tension like he was seconds from pulling his wand and doing something reckless. When he saw she was staring at him, though, his shoulders relaxed, and his trademark smug smile settled over his lips again. “It’s all right,” he said lightly. “Your boyfriend is just jealous you’re spending time with another man.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Hermione said.

At the same time, Ron said, “No, I just hate seeing her wasting time with scum like you.”

Draco’s eyes widened, and his nostrils flared. He fixated his attention on Hermione. “Not your boyfriend? Is there trouble in paradise?” His voice was mocking, but there was something intense about the way he was looking at her.

“Come on, Hermione,” Ron said, gripping her arm and trying to tug her away from Draco. “Let’s go talk somewhere else.”

She ripped her arm out of his grip. “No,” she said, low and vicious. “You don’t get to decide what I do.” Their breakup had been mutual in the end, but Ron had been the one to bring it up in the first place; he didn’t get to play the protective boyfriend now.

“You know,” Draco said casually, “we could also go talk somewhere else.” His eyes were fixed on Hermione’s face, like Ron wasn’t in the room at all.

Hermione looked between him, Ron, and the wizards who had started to drift closer, desperate to overhear any drama related to the Golden Trio. Her heart was pumping too hard, trying to batter its way out of her breast, and her cheeks were hot. This was going to turn into a public disaster, and then there’d be yet another hoop for Hermione to jump through to prove her worth as a young witch in the Ministry’s complicated political structure.

She was tired of jumping through hoops, of always being perfect, of always doing the right and reasonable thing. She was tired of answering to Ron and everyone else who saw her a certain way. She was tired of the burden of expectations.

So for the first time in years, Hermione did the unexpected thing. She backed away from Ron, placed her palm on Draco’s forearm, and smiled at the blond wizard, although her lips trembled with the effort. “I’d love to get away from the party for a bit,” she said.

The tension in Draco’s expression transformed into something bright and hopeful, and when he grinned at her, Hermione felt like she was staring at another man entirely. “All right,” he said, crooking his elbow so she could slip her hand inside it. “Let’s go chat elsewhere.”

Hermione swept out of the room on Draco’s arm, leaving Ron sputtering behind her.

#

They didn’t go far, which was good, since Hermione’s heels were starting to hurt her feet. Draco led her to one of the lifts in the Atrium. As the doors slid shut behind them, Hermione was very aware of exactly how small the lift was. It was a fact she knew off-hand from too many mornings spent crammed into the corner of one of these while heading to the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, but never had that fact seemed more pertinent than now, when she was sharing the enclosed space with Draco Malfoy. This late at night, there was no operator, but a few violet-hued memos swirled overhead, on their way to whichever poor sods were still working.

The lift zoomed upward, and Hermione clung to the golden rope overhead to keep her balance. “Where are we going?” she finally asked.

Draco winked. “It’s a secret.”

She huffed. “Not the most reassuring thing to hear from my lifelong nemesis when it’s late at night and we’re all alone.”

“Oh, please,” Draco said, rolling his eyes. “I know you’ve got a wand in the pockets of that dress. Don’t pretend for a second you aren’t already running through a list of spells to maim or incapacitate me.”

“...Maybe.” All right, so Hermione had been contemplating the best way to disable Draco, should he prove too insufferable. They focused less on maiming, though, and more on minor inconveniences like an uncontrollable sneezing fit or being turned into a squirrel for a few hours.

They’d long-since passed the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, where Draco, Ron, and Harry worked—although Harry said Draco was kept far away from the other two. Soon they were beyond any floors Hermione was familiar with from running errands. The lift stopped a few times to let memos on or off, but nothing broke the tense silence that was building. Hermione kept her eyes on the climbing numbers, wondering when this odd journey would be over.

The lift zoomed forward and lurched to a stop, and Hermione nearly tumbled forward. Her hand clenched hard on the rope, but something else stopped her from smacking her head on the golden latticework of the door—an arm banded around her waist, holding her upright.

Hermione gasped, and a prickle ran over her exposed skin. She could feel the muscles of Draco’s forearm through the thin silk of her gown. Her pulse fluttered in her throat, and heat built between her legs.

 _No,_ the reasonable voice in her head said. _You can’t feel this. Not for him._

“Are you all right?” Draco's mouth brushed her ear, and Hermione shivered. Her nipples tightened, and she cursed herself for foregoing a bra. She’d thought the bodice of her dress was thick enough to cover them up, but when she looked down, she could see the faint outline of them against the fabric.

“Fine,” she said, struggling to get away from him. He released her instantly, and she almost fell a second time. Her hand planted against the door, and she had a sudden, visceral fantasy of bracing herself against that golden grate while Draco stood behind her, slowly pulling the hem of her dress up…

“We’re here,” he said as the door opened. He stepped up next to her, adjusting the sleeves of his robe as if nothing had happened. But when he looked up at her again, there was a devilish gleam in his eyes. “Are you coming?”

Hermione cursed herself for her vivid imagination and appreciation of double entendres. She marched out of the elevator ahead of him, heels clicking on the tile of the hallway outside. She turned on him in a swirl of skirts, crossing her arms over her chest to hide her traitorous nipples. “Well?” she demanded, raising her brows and trying to look as peevish as possible. “What did you want to talk about?”

He seemed utterly unbothered by her prickly demeanor. “This way,” he said, ushering her towards a bronze door embossed with swirling depictions of magical plants. He pulled his wand out of his pocket and waved it at the door, and a chime announced it unlocking. Draco stepped aside, sweeping his arm forward. “After you, my lady.”

Hermione huffed, then stomped past him. The moment she got inside the room, she stopped in her tracks, jaw dropped.

This wasn’t some musty old chamber or boring office space. The far wall and the peaked ceiling were formed of sheets of glass, and plants tangled over every surface: climbing vines on the walls, lush ferns draping over the floor, moon-blooming orchids spreading pale petals towards the sky. Fireflies drifted through the space, their bright dance accompanied by the sound of falling water and rustling plants.

“Where are we?” she asked in wonder.

Draco came up beside her. “The greenhouse,” he said. “One of several overseen by the Department of Magical Plants.”

Hermione trailed her fingers over the deep purple petals of a flower, smiling when they stroked her back. “How do you have access?”

He shrugged, although his shoulders remained tight. “I had… trouble acclimating,” he said, tipping his head back to look up at the moon through the glass roof. “When I first came here. A coworker recommended this as a place to… get away from it all. Thankfully, the Department granted me access.”

Hermione studied him. He was a sight in moonlight, that cool light perfectly suited to his pale features. Fireflies drifted around his head like a golden crown. The very vision of a prince… even if she knew it was far from the truth. “What do you mean you had trouble acclimating?” she asked.

Another shrug. “I’m sure you’ve heard the story before. People who couldn’t cope after the Battle of Hogwarts or any of the other things that happened. Sometimes the world just gets too loud, you know?” He looked at her, and it seemed to her like he was silently begging for understanding. “Maybe you don’t know,” he said when she didn’t respond. He shook his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Hermione Granger, Golden Girl. It wouldn’t surprise me if you haven’t a clue what I’m talking about.”

“No,” she said, feet carrying her forward without conscious thought. She stopped within arm’s reach of him, taking in every detail of that restless, tense face, the one that had haunted her nightmares and, more recently, some very disturbing dreams. “I do know.”

His expression opened up even more, soft and relieved and sad all at once. “Yeah?”

A lump was growing in her throat. She swallowed hard, then nodded. “Yeah. You know about… Bellatrix, right?”

His brows snapped together, and a furrow dug itself into his forehead. He nodded wordlessly.

“Well…” Hermione shivered and rubbed her hands up and down her bare arms. “I dream about it,” she confessed. “A lot. And sometimes… someone will say something in a certain tone, or laugh, and it’s like my body knows something my mind doesn't. I seize up, and my heart starts racing, and I can’t move.”

“Yes,” he said, moving closer. He reached out, hands hovering for a second over her upper arms before he gripped her and took over rubbing away the goosebumps that had risen at the memory. “Why is it always the laughs?”

“Did they laugh a lot?” she asked softly. “When you were with them.”

She’d never dared to ask Draco about his time with the Death Eaters. In fact, she’d gone out of her way to not have that conversation—or any other—with him. She hadn’t wanted to know. Better to pack the past away in a trunk and never bother with it again, like photos of some despised relative shoved into a corner of the attic.

Pain flashed across his face. “Yes,” he said, voice rough. He cleared his throat, and then his posh, controlled tone was back. “They found it funny, I suppose. All the chaos. For them, Voldemort coming back was… a happy thing.”

“Not for you?” she whispered. Merlin help her, she didn’t know why she wanted so badly to hear his answer.

He shook his head. “Not for me. That was… that was my father’s dream. Not mine.”

“What was your dream?”

This conversation had turned so serious so fast. Hermione’s head spun. She couldn’t even remember how they’d gotten here. All she knew was that Draco was holding her in the moonlight, sharing his secrets, and she felt like she was truly seeing behind his mask for the first time.

He sighed and moved his hands up and down her arms again. “I didn’t really have one. It was easiest to just go along with the path set for me. You’ll despise me for it, I’m sure.”

“Why?” Hermione asked, hands lifting to fist in the fabric of his robes.

“Because you’ve always despised me.”

Hermione shook her head. “Not always.” She didn’t know why she was confessing this—why now, after all this time. “There were times you were quite clever, you know. In class. And I would see you studying in the library, and it was like looking at a different person.”

“You watched me study?” he asked, surprise crossing his expression.

Her cheeks heated. “Only because I was there, too.”

“Well, you should despise me,” Draco said. He released her arms, but for some reason, Hermione found herself unable to let go of his robes. When he tried to step back, her grip held him in place. “You’ve always had a plan,” he said, ice-blue eyes fixed on her intently. “You never cared what you were supposed to do.”

She laughed bitterly. “Oh, I’ve always cared what I was supposed to do.” She forced herself to unclench her fingers, one by one, then paced away from him and took a seat on a marble bench in a pool of moonlight. “I’ve always been clever, you know.”

“Trust me, I know.” Draco’s voice was dry as he sat next to her.

“No, I mean… that’s what I was expected to be. It was what I was good at. So I’ve always just been… clever.” Clever was good. Clever was easy. And clever had brought her to where she was—a powerful, Muggle-born witch, a war heroine, a rising star in the Ministry of Magic. So how could she explain that sometimes being clever felt like a cage all its own?

“You aren’t _just_ anything,” Draco said seriously.

They watched each other for long moments, nothing interrupting the silence but the patter of falling water and the occasional sigh of a restless plant. Hermione was sitting next to her sworn enemy and sharing some of her deepest secrets, and it felt… good. Peaceful. Like this was something they were meant to do. 

“Why are we here?” she asked at last, when she could no longer bear the silence and the strange energy building between them.

He shrugged, and the moment of thrumming tension was gone. “You tell me. You obviously wanted to get away from Weasley.” He chewed his lip, eyeing her consideringly. “Are you really broken up with him?"

“As of last month,” Hermione said as lightly as she could manage. Even though it had been the right choice, it still stung—not because she missed Ron, per se, but because she missed the easy simplicity of the life they’d been building together. Harry and Ginny, Ron and Hermione—they fit so neatly together, didn’t they? The perfect couples to grace the society columns of a post-Voldemort world. Of course heroes would want to be together. With evil defeated, what else was there to do but fall in love and live ordinary, happy lives?

“You broke up with him, I assume,” Draco said.

Hermione laughed self-deprecatingly. “Why do you assume that?”

“Because why would anyone break up with you?”

Her breath caught at his expression. He looked truly baffled. “Well,” she said slowly, “I suppose because I’m always working.”

He shrugged. “Who isn’t?”

“And because I’m usually right about things.”

“That’s only irritating to people who are often wrong about things.”

The quip pulled a smile from her. “It is hard to live with a know-it-all, or so I’ve heard.”

“I’d think it would be harder to live with a fool puffed up on his own legend,” Draco said nastily.

She glared at him. “Don’t be cruel. Ron’s not awful. He’s just…” She trailed off, trying to think of the words.

“He’s _just.”_ Draco said the fragment like a condemnation. “And as we’ve established, you need more than ‘just’ anything.”

She stared at him, caught in a web of confusion and fascination. “Why are you being nice to me?” she asked. “You’ve always hated me. I was insulting you not thirty minutes ago.”

“Believe me, I’m used to insults.” He sighed, running a hand through his pale hair. “I never hated you. I thought I did, but I didn’t.” His lips quirked. “Weasley, though, I can honestly say I hate.”

“I don’t understand. Why him and not me?” The Golden Trio were a unit—how could anyone hate one but not another?

“Hermione.” Draco reached forward and grabbed one of her hands. She startled at the sudden contact. His fingers were warm against her skin. “Why do you suppose I would hate your ex-boyfriend, but not you?”

“Because… because…” She really couldn’t think of anything to say. The way he was _looking_ at her…

“Oh, fuck it,” he muttered, and then he leaned forward, and his lips pressed against hers.

Hermione froze. She didn’t dare move, didn’t even breathe. _Draco Malfoy_ was kissing her, his soft lips brushing over hers tenderly. He tasted crisp and clean, with a hint of spice from whatever he’d been drinking at the party.

After a few seconds, he pulled back, face twisting in embarrassment. “Well, clearly that was a terrible idea—”

Hermione moved without conscious thought. She grabbed his face in both hands and tugged him back, mouth colliding with his roughly. She kissed him awkwardly but earnestly, and their noses were bumping together, and the angle was all wrong... Then he tilted his head and opened his lips, and everything fell into place.

He didn’t kiss like Ron. He didn’t kiss like Viktor Krum, either. The first had been direct and earnest, the second rough and aggressive. Draco’s kisses weren’t soft, but they were… sophisticated, for lack of a better word. Teasing. He sucked her lower lip into his mouth, then slowly released it. One of his hands slid to her lower back, and the other fisted in her upswept hair, holding her in place as he explored her with lips and teeth and tongue.

Hermione melted into the kiss, letting herself truly _feel_ it. She’d forgotten what this was like—the thrill of lips brushing, the slow seduction of a kiss meant to be enjoyed for its own sake, rather than as a precursor to something else. She shifted closer on the bench, until their thighs were pressed together and her torso was twisted in an attempt to press her breasts against his chest. Draco clutched her tighter, some soft, low noise falling from his mouth into hers.

She’d wanted this for a long time, she realized. Even before they’d left Hogwarts. He’d always driven her wild, with his condescension and his sharpness, with the way his eyes had seemed to follow her wherever she went. The contrast between the solemn, quiet boy she spied on in the library and the loud, sneering persona he wore around everyone else had captivated and infuriated her in equal amounts.

He pulled back from the kiss, resting his forehead against hers as his panting breath fell against her lips. “Hermione,” he whispered.

“Draco,” she whispered back, and then she was kissing him again, unable to resist the magnetic pull. This was wrong—or at least, that’s what most people would tell her. Hermione Granger, Golden Girl, should not be passionately kissing her childhood bully. Under his robes, she knew she’d see the Dark Mark etched in violence on his forearm. An avatar of good ought to choose someone equally righteous to be with.

Hermione didn’t care. She was tired of doing what she _ought to._

She swung her leg over his hips and settled into his lap, knees braced on the hard marble on either side of him. Draco let out a groan, then settled both hands on the top swell of her arse. He guided her against him, little soft flexes of his fingers that encouraged her to move her hips. There was so much fabric in the way, between his dress robes and her voluminous skirts, but as she moved, she rubbed against something hard.

“Hermione, please,” Draco said, breaking away to press hot kisses down her throat.

“Please what?” she asked, tipping her head to the side to grant him greater access.

“I’ve wanted this for so long.” He spoke in a hushed voice, like a man standing in a holy place. His breath puffed hot against her throat. “I can’t… make me believe it’s real.”

Her heart clenched at his pleading tone. It struck a chord in her. Sometimes, after all that had happened to them, it was hard to believe _anything_ was real. “It’s real, she whispered as he kissed down to the top swell of her breasts. She rocked her hips over him, grinding their bodies together. She felt more alive than she had in months—years, maybe.

He groaned and reached up to palm one of her breasts while his hot mouth trailed kisses over one silk-covered nipple. Hermione gasped and arched her back, needing more pressure. When he pinched one straining tip through the fabric, she whimpered.

“I saw these, you know,” he said. His mouth was leaving damp trails over the sapphire silk. “In the elevator, after I touched you. It made me so hard.”

“Draco,” she whispered, holding his head tight to her chest. His hair was soft under her fingers, and he smelled of fancy shampoo and some exquisite, undoubtedly expensive cologne. “Please, I need more.”

He stopped sucking her nipple and looked up at her. His pupils were wide, his cheeks flushed, his lips damp and rosy. “Are you sure?” he asked.

Hermione nodded fervently. This was mad, and everyone she loved would condemn her for it, but she didn’t care. She needed this. The passion and spark, the feeling of oh-so-wrong rightness. “Take my dress off,” she said.

Draco cursed, then fumbled at the back of her dress, reaching for the slim silver zipper. Hermione worked on the clasp to his robes while he dragged the zipper down, leaving her back open to the warm greenhouse air. His hand ghosted over her bare skin, and they shuddered in unison.

“No bra,” he said wonderingly.

“I hardly need one,” Hermione said self-deprecatingly.

Draco fisted a hand in her hair, sending pins flying, and forced her to look at him. “You’re perfect,” he said vehemently. “Just the way you are.”

Hermione hadn’t heard someone say ‘perfect’ in that tone in a long time. Ron had called her ‘perfect’ plenty of times, but it had always been a jab. _‘Miss Perfect,’_ or _‘you’re just so bloody perfect all the time.’_ Draco, though, looked like he meant it.

Hermione stood off his lap and shoved her loosened dress down over her hips. The fabric fluttered to the ground like the petals of some exotic flower, and she stepped out of it carefully. All she wore now were her underwear and silver high heels, and even though her knickers were plain gray, Draco stared at her like she was wearing the raciest lingerie known to man.

“Oh, fuck,” he said faintly. He looked dazed.

Hermione felt powerful. She might be almost fully naked, but she knew in that moment that she _owned_ Draco Malfoy. “Your turn,” she ordered, pointing at his robe.

Draco scrambled to take it off, his jerky movements almost comedic. She’d never seen him quite so flustered, and she’d seen him flustered a lot over the years. He got tangled in one of the sleeves, and she bit down a grin at the storm of creative cursing that followed. Eventually, though, he stood before her, dressed in black slacks, a black tie, and a black button-up.

“That’s a lot of layers,” she observed, tracing her eyes over his lean frame. “And all black, too. Do you suppose you’re sending a strong enough message about how edgy you are?”

His glare wasn’t particularly effective, since the corner of his lips kept tugging up into a smile. He shook his head as he started undoing his tie. “There you go again with that mouth, Granger.”

She’d never felt like much of a seductress—Ron certainly hadn’t treated her like anything but a good mate he liked to shag—but as Draco nearly strangled himself with the tie trying to get it off, she felt like the most desirable woman in the world. She moved forward to help him with the buttons of his shirt. “My mouth can do lots of things,” she said. “But you have to call me Hermione to find out what.”

His eyes widened, and then he was kissing her again, lips moving frantically over hers as they both fumbled to strip off his remaining clothes. He kicked off his shoes, but Hermione liked being close to him in height, so she kept her heels on. Soon they were both wearing nothing but underwear, but Hermione was too busy kissing him within an inch of his life to look down and see what he’d been hiding under all those layers.

She could feel one thing he’d been hiding, though. His erection pressed into her lower belly, a hard bar that made her shiver. She rocked against him, trying to ascertain his size—substantial, she determined after repeating the experiment a few times—and he grunted at the movement.

He broke away so fast her head spun, and then he sank to his knees before her. She could see his erection tenting the fabric of his black boxer-briefs. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of her knickers and looked up at her with hot, pleading eyes. “Can I?” he asked.

Too overwhelmed to speak, Hermione nodded. She watched as Draco dragged the fabric down her thighs, following its path with kisses. The sight of his pale hair between her legs, even if he was just kissing the side of her knee, was so stimulating she whimpered. At the sound, Draco looked up and grinned at her before focusing back on his task.

He looked so different from normal. His face was… alive, for lack of a better word. His eyes sparkled, his cheeks were flushed, and now that his face was relaxed, she realized how much tension he carried every day.

 _Me, too,_ she thought, stroking a hand through his silky soft hair. Whenever she was in public, she was always aware that someone might be watching.

She lifted one foot, then the other as Draco unhooked her knickers from her silver heels. He knelt back and stared at her, eyes tracing over the curls between her legs. Finally feeling self-conscious, Hermione moved to cover herself, but he shook his head and grabbed her hand, pinning it to her side.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered. Then he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to her mound, lips brushing against her pubic hair.

Hermione moaned and sank her free hand into his hair. She hadn’t had this in a while, and never like this—never high above London with a pale prince kneeling at her feet and fireflies sparking around them. She was already wet just from kissing him; she couldn’t imagine what else those talented lips could do.

He grabbed one of her legs and hooked it over his shoulder, then buried his head between her legs. Hermione gasped at the sudden contact on her most sensitive parts, and she was grateful when his hands came to her hips to hold her in place. His tongue flicked over her clit, then slid back to taste every part of her.  
  
“Merlin,” she gasped as he delved inside her with the tip of his tongue.

She felt his smile against her. “I need to teach you how to properly swear,” he said before returning to kissing her pussy with open-mouthed enthusiasm.

Hermione couldn’t stop staring down at what he was doing to her. His white-blond head shifted with each movement, and periodically she glimpsed the flick of his tongue. He glanced up at her frequently, as if checking to make sure she was still all right with what was happening.

She was more than all right. She was in ecstasy. Every stroke over her clit sent pleasure racing through her, and when he sank one finger inside her, she moaned loud enough to startle a nearby fern into curling up on itself.

“Draco,” she gasped as he started sucking at her clit while his finger stroked inside her. He added a second finger and crooked them, finding that pleasurable spot within her with shocking rapidity. Heat built in her lower belly, and her hips jerked against his face as she sought more, faster, _harder._

He must have known she was about to come, because he doubled down on his efforts, fingering, sucking, and licking her fiercely. Hermione was only standing upright thanks to his hand on her hip and her fingers laced in his hair. Her legs trembled, her vision blurred, and then…

The orgasm surged over her. Her pussy spasmed rhythmically around his fingers as a wave of heat washed over her. She cried out, curling over his head as pleasure shot through her. He kept licking and fingering her, and she was a shaking, shuddering mess by the time the orgasm stopped.

She pushed lightly on his forehead, and he drew back at last, licking his lips. Unfortunately, Hermione’s knees chose that moment to give out. She sank towards the ground, but Draco was there, clutching her tight as he slowly lowered her onto the stone floor.

“All right?” he asked, looking down at her. He was smiling smugly again, but she couldn’t begrudge him that, considering the miracles he’d just worked with his mouth.

She tried to answer, but all that came out was a quivering moan.

His smile widened. “Guess so.” He settled between her legs, holding himself up on his elbows as he peppered kisses over her chest and throat. “That was incredible,” he whispered. “Thank you.”

Hermione didn’t know what universe she had arrived in, where a man thanked a woman for letting him go down on her, but she never wanted to leave. She rocked against him, rubbing her soaked pussy over his erection. He was still wearing those damn underpants, and she wanted them gone immediately. “Draco,” she said desperately.

“What?” He sucked her nipple, making her moan again.

“I want to have sex with you.”

He stilled, then shifted so he could look down at her. His eyes were serious as he studied her. “Are you sure?” he asked softly. “For all I know, you’re doing this to get back at Ron.”

“No.” She grabbed his neck and pulled him down into a hot kiss. “It’s not about Ron,” she said when they finally broke apart. “It’s about what we want, you and me. Forget—no, _fuck_ everyone else and their bloody expectations.”

A grin bloomed on his face, white and shining and so perfect, her heart skipped a beat. “All right,” he said. “Let me do a contraceptive spell.”

He muttered under his breath, and the electric prick of magic filled the air. Hermione was on birth control—being Muggle-born, she didn’t share the wizarding world’s disdain of perfectly effective medication—but she appreciated the thoughtfulness, and the spell should counteract any diseases, too. It was even more impressive that he’d accomplished it without a wand.

His erection pressed against her pussy, and she rocked her hips a few times, enjoying the smooth glide of skin-on-skin. He groaned and reached between them, fitting the tip of his cock to her entrance. Then he was pushing in, slow and sure.

Hermione gasped at the stretch. He was large, but not uncomfortably so; still, it had been a while since she’d had sex—failing relationships didn’t allow for much intimacy. She clung to him, fingers digging into his back as he kept working his way inside.

Finally, he bottomed out. He held still, arms trembling on either side of her. “All right?” he asked hoarsely.

Hermione took a moment to absorb the feel of him. She was deliciously full, stretched so tight she felt the throb of her pulse—or maybe his—deep inside. His weight on top of her was solid and comforting, but not overwhelming—he’d always been slim, and as a man, that had translated into lean, wiry strength. She clenched her pussy around him, smiling when he made a choking sound.

Above them, the fireflies drifted in bright constellations. The moon cast its delicate light through the ceiling, painting Draco in shades of silver and white.

He was like that anyway, she thought, staring up at him. Cool and beautiful as moonlight, as untouchable as the night sky.

She was touching him now, though. His cock was buried deep inside her, and his hands were tangled in her hair, and his pale skin was damp with sweat. He was a man, nothing more. And whatever had happened between them in the past, they were here now.

She smiled up at him. “I’m ready.”

He kissed her, lips traveling slowly and thoroughly over hers as his hips started to move. He went slowly at first, pulling out and gliding in like the lazy lapping of waves on a wind-blown lake. Every thrust unraveled Hermione more, and soon she was so distracted by how good it felt that she had no attention for kissing. She buried her head in his neck, nipping at his pale skin.

He grunted at the sting of her teeth, and his hips jerked. Hermione gasped at the rough thrust. “More,” she demanded, squeezing his ass in both hands and lifting her knees to deepen the penetration.

Draco obeyed, moving faster and harder. She couldn’t see his face with her mouth worshipping the taut line between neck and shoulder, but she could hear every noise he made. He grunted, groaned, and even whimpered, a soft yet constant barrage of sound.

She was making noises, too, little breathless gasps with every deep thrust. It felt incredible, and then he dropped one hand to her ass and tilted her hips up, and he hit an entirely new place inside her that made her see stars. “Fuck,” she said, hands scrabbling at his back as she wrapped her legs around him. “More, Draco, please!”

He obeyed, slamming into her hard and fast. Hermione clung to him, rocking her hips to match him as much as she was able. With every thrust, his pubic bone ground against her clit, and oh Merlin, she was going to come…

“More, more, more,” she chanted, bucking up to get more pressure against her clit. Her entire world narrowed down to the point where their bodies met. A squirming, shivering, electrifying sensation built in her pelvis.

“Yes,” Draco said, breathless and rough. “Do it, Hermione. Come for me.”

The pleasure burst all at once, like a star going supernova. She cried out, then bit down hard on the salty-slick skin between Draco’s neck and shoulder. Her body pulsed and shuddered with the orgasm, endless waves of hot joy that swept all conscious thought away. All she knew was _him_ and _this_ and _them,_ the perfect result of some cosmic equation that had been years in the making.

He shouted, then shuddered on top of her, hips jerking roughly. She held him through his own orgasm, relishing every shiver and pulse.

They stayed wrapped around each other for a few seconds, both breathing heavily, and then Draco pulled out with a groan. He shifted to his side, taking Hermione with him. She snuggled into his chest, not minding the wet seep of his cum between her legs. A simple Evanesco spell would take care of that, but she wasn’t particularly eager to erase the evidence.

“Wow,” Draco said after a while.

Hermione giggled into his chest. “That’s all you have to say? Wow?”

“I mean, have you seen you?” He kissed her head. “This is… I can’t even tell you how much I’ve wanted this.” His voice turned sad. “All those years wasted.”

She hesitated, because what could she say? For years, Draco had been a bully and a villain. But now…

“Maybe they weren’t a waste,” she found herself saying, before she’d even completed the thought. “If you’d been different, or if I’d been different, it would have been easy, wouldn’t it? And I’ve lived my whole life doing what’s easy or what’s expected—even if it doesn’t look that way. Being with Ron was easy. Being the Golden Girl was easy. But now… that’s all over.”

“I think I get it,” he said, soft and low. “Being my father’s son was easy, too. But now…”

“We’re different now,” she said. “Maybe people change. Maybe the beauty is in how they change—how they come together when it’s right, even if it isn’t easy.”

“Why, Granger,” he said, smile pressed against her hair. “Are you admitting you were wrong about me?”

“Not wrong,” she said primly. “I just needed to gather more data.” She kissed his chest, right over his racing heart. “And you know what to call me.”

“I do,” he said, holding her tighter. “Hermione.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked that, please let me know! I'm nervous about posting in the HP fandom after so much time in Star Wars.


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